Copperhead
by HowlWind
Summary: Alternative ending to S2E05, "Chupacabra": Daryl is bitten by a poisonous snake while in the woods. With no access to anti-venom, he's hurting in a major way.
1. Chapter 1

_[Author's note: This is a fill for a Walking Dead Kinkeme prompt. No smut here, just Daryl struggling for survival. Enjoy!]_

The pain was not unlike having a heated hypodermic needles jammed home between his ribs.

"Oh FUCK."

Daryl threw himself violently to the side, scrambling to his knees as a steady stream of curse words burst from his lips. The snake he'd landed on slithered away, a fleeting streak of flashing scales disappearing into the brush. A Copperhead. He'd fallen right on top of a _goddamn_ _Copperhead_.

It was bad enough his horse had spooked and thrown him. Worse than worse that he'd landed on the very snake that had scared the horse in the first place. And to think, he'd been glad he hadn't gone right over the side of the cliff.

The fall down the rock face might have been preferable to this.

Gingerly, Daryl lifted his shirt. The bite was impossible to miss, an angry red colour and already swelling as blood streamed steadily from the twin punctures.

"Oh _fuck._"

Living in Georgia his whole life, Daryl had always known there'd been a chance he'd be bitten by a snake. Hell, with as much time as he spent in the woods, he was surprised it hadn't happened sooner. But now, with no chance of getting his hands on anti-venom? What a fucking joke.

Shakily, Daryl pushed himself to his feet. He tore his shirt off, not liking the way the material rubbed against the fresh wound. He made a concentrated effort to slow his breathing and calm down- panic was not the answer in this situation. Panic led to an increased heart rate, which would power the venom through his veins. What he needed to do was get back to camp, and wait it out. See what happened.

The venom was spreading with every beat of Daryl's heart, and so was the pain. It crept up his torso and leaked down into his legs, making it hard to focus. He staggered under the weight of the pain, grabbing at nearby trees for support. More than anything, Daryl wanted to lie down and let the pain consume him. That would be the easy option.

Thing was, he'd never been one for taking the easy way out.

Each footstep was a chore. Nothing had ever been this hard before, taken this much intense concentration. His breath was ragged and short; he used every ounce of his willpower to keep moving and focus on remembering what he knew about Copperheads. They didn't always inject venom, he knew that. Copperheads gave dry bites more often than not. If Daryl was lucky, the snake hadn't used very much venom.

Daryl sure hoped today was his lucky day.

Each lurching step he took seemed like a small miracle. His head throbbed dully and he felt cold, even though he was soaked with sweat. How far was it to the camp? Hard to know. He hadn't been riding very long before being tossed, but every foot might as well have been a mile right now.

_Alright man, you got this. Gonna make it back. Gotta make it back. No other option. Fuck, that __**hurts**__._

Blood oozed steadily out of the wounds. Copperhead venom was a hemolytic, and the bleeding wasn't likely to stop soon, not with the way Daryl was exerting himself. He groaned and clutched at his tender side, feeling the swollen flesh under the pads of his fingers.

The minutes stretched into hours as Daryl moved through the trees. He was shaking uncontrollably and felt so weak he didn't know how he was still upright.

_Just a little more, you pussy. Just a little farther and you can sleep all you want._

Daryl squinted at the ground, looking for signs that he'd come this way. Was he even headed in the right direction anymore?

_Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. Just keep walking._


	2. Chapter 2

When the survivors spotted him staggering out of the woods, they thought Daryl was a walker. Covered in dirt, grime, and blood, the man barely looked human. Shane, Rick, T-dog and Glenn broke into a full-out sprint across the field. They had to take out the threat before it reached the main camp.

"…Is that Daryl?"

The men realized it was one of their own before blood was shed.

Rick blurted out, "Holy shit man, the _fuck_ happened to you?"

Daryl collapsed to his knees, shook his head. He managed to choke out a few words- "Got bit. Hurts real bad."

Then he succumbed to the growing dark, and blacked out.

Staring at the body lying on the ground before him, Rick felt his blood run cold. Glenn reeled backwards, shouting "BIT? He got BIT? Oh shit, this is fucked up dude, this is so fucked up."

Shane stepped forward, gun raised. "We know what needs to be done. Step back."

"Wait."

Rick moved to kneel next to Daryl's still form.

"Goddammit Rick, you know what bit means. Back the fuck up right now, we gotta end this thing before it begins."

"I said WAIT."

Shane took a step back, hearing the edge in Rick's voice. "Fine man, you want to put us all in danger? Go ahead. Just do what you want. I'm done. I'm out of this." He turned and strode angrily back to the camp.

T-dog spoke up: "Rick, he's right. I don't like it, but he's right. Daryl's a goner. There's nothing we can do for him now."

"I ain't so sure about that one."

"What?"

T-dog moved to Rick's side, and looked to where the former officer was now pointing. He saw the puncture wounds, the thin stream of blood still leaking from them.

"Fuckin' A. He meant he got bit by a _snake_? Not a walker? Fuck!"

Glenn started to laugh, a forced sound with an edge of hysteria. He spit out, "We almost killed him. I can't believe it. We almost shot him."

"Yeah, well, he ain't dead yet, but he might be if we don't get him back soon. See what we can do for him. Help me carry him, he ain't going anywhere on his own."

Together, they lifted Daryl and dragged him back to camp.


	3. Chapter 3

For days, Daryl drifted in and out of the fever haze.

He hallucinated. Sometimes it was Merle at his side telling him what a fucking mess he'd gotten himself into. Other times it was Sophia, a silent presence sitting there holding her cool child's hand on his forehead.

Eventually he began to wake for longer periods of time, realizing that the people at his side were actually Carol, sometimes Lori or Andrea, even Glenn and Rick. Each survivor took a turn checking on him, making sure he had enough water and that the wound in his side was being dressed.

One night he woke, and found it was Andrea at his side.

"How long've I been out?"

His throat was so dry, he could barely force the words out. Andrea understood, and passed him a bottle of water. Daryl pushed himself up on one elbow and drank gratefully, draining half the bottle in one go.

"Five days, about. For a while we weren't sure you'd make it, but Hershel thought your chances were pretty good if you made it all the way through the woods like that."

Dropping the bottle to the ground, Daryl sank down onto his back again with a groan.

"Shit, _I_ wasn't sure I'd make it. Never been bit by a snake before, that shit hurt like a _bitch_."

Andrea chuckled. "Yeah, I bet. And hey, next time you find yourself in a situation, make sure your dumbass lets us know what _kind_ of bite you got before Shane puts a bullet through your skull."

"Get off my back, woman. I could barely even talk at that point, damn."

"Sure, sure. Get some rest, you dumb redneck. We're all tired of taking care of your lazy ass."

Daryl grinned into the darkness as Andrea punched him companionably on the shoulder. She then stepped out of the tent as Glenn came to take her place at Daryl's side. The two men made small talk for a while before Daryl finally drifted back to sleep, the pain in his side fading with each passing moment.

He'd been pretty lucky after all.


End file.
